


wish i knew you (when i was young)

by ToAStranger



Series: when the rain washes you clean (you'll know) [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Bad Flirting, Coming Out, Gen, Mid-Canon, Pre-Canon, Pre-Season/Series 03, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-29 02:09:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18298118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToAStranger/pseuds/ToAStranger
Summary: Robin kind of hates everything: Hawkins, her dad, her job, and probably Steve Harrington.





	wish i knew you (when i was young)

**Author's Note:**

> Another semi-predictive romp.

She meets Steve on the first day of training, before the mall is even open properly to the public.

 

Her first impression of him is, well, not _good_ . He looks like pretty much everything she hates about small towns. Smarmy, charming, preppy, _nosy_.

 

He sidles up to her, first thing, in fucking khakis and a goddamn polo, holds out his hand and says: “Steve Harrington, nice to meet you.”

 

“Robin,” she says.

 

She doesn't shake his hand.

 

He watches her cross her arms, watches her slump back in one of the chairs, and he drags his hand through his hair-- nearly knocks his sunglasses off the top of his head-- and laughs. She thinks he's trying to be cute.

 

He smiles, charming and lopsided, like he wants her to think he's cute.

 

“Got a last name?”

 

“Just Robin,” she says.

 

Steve's throat works as he nods. “Okay. Just Robin. Works for me.”

 

He doesn't bother her after that. It's surprising.

 

Pleasantly so.

 

***

 

They don’t really talk outside of work stuff.  Harrington _tries_ , with that charming, dopey grin and his hands all over the place, but Robin doesn’t really reciprocate.

 

It’s a job.  They’re co-workers.  Not _buddies_.

 

But, after the mall opens, during that first week, Robin thinks maybe-- just _maybe_ because she generally trusts her gut about assholes that remind her of her dad-- she’s wrong about him.  That he’s not _exactly_ the asshole she thought.

 

It happens because during that first week, everytime a group of kids come in, Harrington sneaks them way too many free samples.  

 

“If Dominic finds out you’re giving out shit for free, you’re gonna get sacked.” Robin tells him, watching him watch the gaggle of kids in the booth tucked into the corner.  

 

She doesn’t know their names, but Steve does and they know him by increasingly ridiculous nicknames.

 

 _Scarecrow_ is her personal favorite.  The black kid calls him that.

 

“Nah,” Steve shrugs, washing his hands, his hat crooked on his head.  “He wouldn’t fire me. With a pretty face like mine?”

 

Robin scoffs and Steve blinks over at her.

 

“What?  You think that just because I can't charm my way into your good graces that I can’t sweet talk my boss?” Steve says, with a devious little smile.  

 

Robin blinks.  She’s not used to guys like Steve fessing up to their wicked ways.  

 

It’s actually painfully charming.

 

She kinda hates him a little bit more.  Just for that.

 

“Dom is a hardass,” she says.  

 

“Better than an asshole,” Steve mutters and shrugs.  

 

He’s not _wrong_.  “Well--”

 

“Stevie!”

 

One of the kids crows from the table, and instantly Steve is gone from behind the counter, walking over with a smile, slapping one sour looking kid on the back and messing with another's sad excuse of a haircut.  Robin watches, lips pursed, and actually offers up a small smile when Steve looks back and waves like they're friends.

 

The sour faced kid rolls his eyes. Robin feels that on an epic scale.

 

***

 

Robin didn't _want_ to take this dinky job at the mall. She had to.

 

The last place she worked, the manager accused her of being _volatile_ , of being _aggressive_ , of not being a _people person_ .  She stopped trying to work at clothing boutiques after that, and it wasn't as if _Hawkins, Indiana_ had a half decent record shop around.

 

So, food service.

 

Anything to get out of the house and stay out. Less likely for her dad to drag her to some stupid event.

 

Besides, Dominic was the only manager that didn't seem like total bullshit. Just looked at her and asked: “can you work long hours and slap a smile on your face when handling bitchy soccer moms?”

 

She'd said yes, and he'd hired her on the spot. Most days, she doesn't even regret it.

 

***

 

Except on days when she has to close with Steve. Then, she regrets it. Just a _little_.

 

Even if watching him dance and sing while he mops up is a _little_ funny.

 

She's scrubbing down the counters while he belts out _Say It Isn't So_ into the end of the mop like a mic, bopping his head like it might go out of style any second.  Spinning and dragging the mop across the floor, sloppy, like he's never cleaned a day in his life. She wants to call him out for being a complete dweeb, but she doesn't think it would bother him.

 

Most of what she says tends to roll right off him. Like water off a duck.

 

It's admirable.

 

Annoying. But admirable.

 

“Are you done, yet?” she asks.

 

Steve grins at her, hat long discarded, hair a mess. “Song's not over, yet.”

 

“Oh, if only it were.” Robin says, smile bitter and plastic on her face.  

 

“Seriously? The Outfield? You hate everything, I get that, but even _The Outfield_?”

 

Robin huffs.  “Not my brand.”

 

“You just haven't given it a proper try,” Steve says, plops the mop into the bucket and then holds out a hand. “C'mon. Give it a shot.”

 

“We gotta close up before Dom curses us out for wasting work hours.” Robin says.

 

“C'mon. A little spin won't kill you.”

 

“The floors are wet.”

 

“We've got non slip shoes.”

 

Robin sighs, folding her arms over her chest.

 

Steve drops his hand, smile faltering. He rubs it against his shorts and Robin arches a brow at the way he shifts and looks away.

 

“You don't… particularly _like_ me, do you?” he asks.

 

Robin's lips press thin. “You're… not my brand, either.”

 

Steve's eyes are wide when they meet hers. “Oh,” he says.

 

 _Oh_. Robin huffs. Huffs and waits for the inevitable that always come with a boy like Steve getting rejected by a girl like her.

 

“That's… oh,” Steve nods.  “I've never, um. That's really-- cool? That you're, uh, _that_.”

 

“That?” Robin asks, eyes narrowed; challenges, really, because she doesn't think a small town pretty boy like him could jump to the right conclusions so quickly.  “You're just not my type.”

 

“ _Oh_!” Steve blinks again and then goes red in the face, hands waving in front of himself. “I thought-- nevermind, I just thought--”

 

“Harrington!” Dominic snaps, poking his head out from the back. “Stop dallying. I wanna get home sometime this week.”

 

Robin watches Steve straighten up. Watches him nod, eyes darting from her to Dom, and frowns as he snatches the mop back up.

 

“Sorry, boss.” Steve says.

 

Dom sighs. “It's fine. Just hurry up?”

 

“You got it.”

 

They finish cleaning up quick. They don't talk. Steve doesn't start singing again, either.

 

Robin doesn't know how to feel about that. That he's clammed up. That, for a second, he looked at her and maybe _knew_ and said _cool_. That he'd made an assumption, maybe not even a wrong one, and hadn't looked at Robin any different.

 

***

 

When they're done, Dominic walks them out and locks up behind them. He walks them out the front, waves at the security guard on their way, and pats them both on the shoulder before saying goodnight.

 

Robin lingers. It's hot and wet out, even though it's already dark. Her uniform sticks to her skin. She wants a shower, just to wash the small town slick off. But she hesitates.

 

Because Steve is standing there, playing with his car keys. Like he wants to ask her something.

 

“Get on with it,” she says, and then waves a hand when he looks at her.  “The question you wanna ask. Ask it.”

 

“Can I walk you to your car?”

 

“What, you think I'm gonna get jumped in the parking lot?” Robin squints at him.

 

“No, not--” Steve sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Nevermind.”

 

Robin watches as he starts walking toward his Beemer. She realizes she's been spending a lot of time watching Steve Harrington.

 

“Wait!” Robin says, rolling her eyes, and trudges forward when Steve turns to face her.  “Jesus, you're a hassle. Fine. Walk me.”

 

Steve _beams_ at her.  Holds out his elbow and everything.

 

Robin rolls her eyes and takes it.

 

They walk, quiet, down to the end of the parking where the employee spots are. Steve fidgets with his keys the whole time.

 

“I'm sorry about earlier,” Steve blurts when they finally sidle up to her beat up old VW.  “I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable by asking you to dance. Or to, like, assume… stuff.”

 

“Stuff?” Robin asks.

 

“Yeah, that you're...” Steve waves his hands at her.

 

Robin leans an elbow on the top of her car. “You talk with your hands a lot.”

 

“My mom's Italian.”

 

“Cute,” Robin nods, tone dry.  “You gonna finish your sentence anytime soon?”

 

Steve flusters and then drops his hands. “I, uh… didn't mean to assume you were… gay.”

 

Robin blinks, a ripple of tension running through her shoulders.  A tightness in her chest.

 

Steve stumbles forward a step, big eyes all wide. “Sorry! It's not-- I mean, I wasn't saying it because it's a _bad_ thing, I think it's pretty cool that you'd come out with it if you were, but I was just assuming-- not-- not in, like, a _bad_ way--”

 

“Harrington,” Robin cuts him off, holding up a hand, and he stammers to a stop.  “It's fine. You're not wrong.”

 

“Oh,” Steve says, _again_ , and Robin thinks he's kinda adorable when he's falling all over himself; then, he smiles. “Cool.”

 

“Cool?” she can't help but ask; small towns and homophobia kind of go hand in hand. “That's it?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve shrugs. “Cool.”

 

“You're very strange, Steve Harrington.”

 

Steve's smile just goes wonky and crooked. “Thanks, I think.  See you tomorrow?”

 

“Yeah, sure.” Robin says, watching him walk toward his car. “Tomorrow.”

 

***

 

She doesn't get Steve Harrington. At all.

 

He walks around like a prince. Seems the type to have grown up with a silver spoon in his mouth; his car and clothes alone say that, if not his complete inability to actually clean anything.  Charming and cocky, then awkward and bumbling in the next turn. Too pretty to have come out of this dead end town, and way too aware of it.

 

He's all goddamn sunshine and fucking rainbows with those dumb kids.  He's always chatting her ear off, always joking around with Dominic. But he gets all pissy when someone from his old high school drops by to rib him.

 

She's only seen him be nice to, like, _two_ people their age. Some girl he calls _Nance_ and gives free ice cream to and her boyfriend.

 

So, when they're working a pretty boring Sunday and Steve is wiping down tables just for something to do, she's surprised by how his entire demeanor changes when some prick in jeans and a ratty band t-shirt strolls in and wolf whistles.

 

At first, she thinks it's for her. But then the guy is swaggering right up to Steve and plucking at his uniform shirt like he belongs in Steve's space.

 

“ _Ahoy_ , pretty boy.”

 

“Oh, get bent.” Steve says, rolling his eyes, smacking his hand away with the dirty rag.  “What're you doing here?”

 

“I'm a paying customer,” the guy insists, then leans right back in with a shark smile. “Besides, _Maxine_ told me about your fancy new monkey suite. Decided to come see it for myself.”

 

Robin thinks _Maxine_ is that little redhead.

 

They're a performance in contrast. Steve's dark hair and this guy's blonde curls. Pale skin on gold. Steve's shoulders a rigid line. The other guy's cocky slouch. Wiry and compact versus the stranger's broad, bulky frame.

 

Robin's never seen Steve's face get so red so _fast_.

 

The guy's tongue peeks between his teeth, his gaze dropping down over Steve's uniform. Robin is pretty sure she knows _exactly_ what he's thinking.

 

“You gonna give me a little dance, sailor boy?”

 

“I'm gonna give you another broken nose,” Steve says, mouth twisted in a mean grimace.

 

Robin doesn't think she's ever seen Steve _mean_.

 

“I think I'd prefer the dance.”

 

Steve practically snarls, reaching up and flicking the guy right on the nose. He hisses, jerking back, and Steve brushes by and around the counter, shaking his head when Robin lifts her brows at him.

 

“ _Jesus_ , Harrington--”

 

“Buy some ice cream, Billy, or get gone.”

 

 _Billy_ rubs his nose, glaring at Steve over his hand, glancing at Robin before huffing and stomping over.  “You gonna price gouge me, again?”

 

“Try it and see,” Steve says, with a sharp smile and a flinty look in his eyes.

 

Robin kinda _likes_ mean Steve.

 

“Vanilla. Double scoop.” Billy says, jaw flexing, hands on the counter.

 

“Boring,” Steve says.

 

Billy squints at him.  “ _What?”_

 

“Boring,” Steve's smile gets wider. “Pick again.”

 

Billy tries to stare him down. Steve doesn't falter. Doesn't back down an _inch_.

 

Billy points a finger in his face.

 

“You're a jackass, Harrington.”

 

Steve shrugs.  “I've been called worse. By you, in fact. You gonna buy some ice cream or not?”

 

“Chocolate--”

 

Steve rolls his eyes so hard Robin thinks they might fall right out of his head. “No _imagination_ \--”

 

“ _Strawberry_ , then, for fuck's sake.”

 

“Eh, still kinda dull.”

 

“Are you gonna fucking sell me some ice cream or not?” Billy sneers, slapping a hand on the counter top with a ten between his fingers, an edge to his voice that sounds almost dangerous.

 

But Robin sees how _bright_ his eyes are, now. Bright and only on Steve.

 

Sees how his breath is short. How there's a flush to his skin. How his tongue slides between his teeth again.

 

And when Steve leans in and bats those big brown eyes of his as he says, all slow, “are you gonna fucking say _please_ ?”, she sees how Billy _smiles_.

 

 _Definitely_ dangerous.

 

“ _Please_ , pretty boy?” he asks as he leans over the counter.

 

Steve hums, cracking open the freezer case and grabbing a scoop. To Robin's surprise, he goes for the vanilla.

 

“Was that so hard?” Steve asks.

 

Billy laughs.  “You're such a little shit.”

 

“Careful, I'm handling your food.” Steve clicks his tongue. “Would hate for something to happen to it.”

 

“I come all the way down to this ridiculous popsicle stand to say hello to you, and this is how you treat me?”

 

“Oh, so, you're here to see _me_?” Steve asks.

 

Billy blinks a few times and then glances, finally, away from him. At Robin.

 

“Nah,” he crosses his arms, that ravenous expression on his face disappearing beneath something totally disinterested; and so very _fake_. “Just got hungry while I was shopping.”

 

“And here I was starting to think you'd missed me.”

 

“I saw you Friday, at the pool.” Billy says, then grins with all his teeth.  “Think I like _this_ suite better.”

 

Robin watches Steve's ears go pink, and then he's ringing Billy up, taking his cash, and handing him his cone.

 

“Bye, Billy.”

 

“Trying to get rid of me, _Stevie_?” Billy asks, licking his cone. “I'm hurt.”

 

“You'll survive.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Billy says.  “Later, sailor boy.”

 

And then he's gone.

 

Robin doesn't miss the way Steve watches him go. Doesn't miss the way he shakes his head before getting back to work, a wry grin on his face; _fond._

 

“So,” she says. “He's a dick.”

 

Steve barks out a laugh. “You can say that again.”

 

***

 

They don't talk about the whole _gay_ thing for a whole _week._

 

It's the end of June and Steve's got this funky look in his eye _all day_.  There's a sunburn on his nose and cheeks. Robin thinks he was at the pool all day yesterday.

 

He still smells like chlorine and sunscreen.

 

He keeps glancing at her and then looking away, all day, until they're closing up. Doesn't say anything until Dominic comes out of the office in a tizzy, keys in hand, and shoves them at Steve.

 

“Harrington, you're locking up tonight. If you do well, maybe I'll even let you do it again.” Dominic says, and Steve's eyes are wide on his face.

 

“You sure?” he asks.

 

“Something's come up. I gotta leave early.” Dominic claps him on the shoulder and Robin sees Steve's ears go pink. “I'm trusting you.”

 

“You got it, boss.”

 

Dominic grins, and if Robin were into that, even she'd find it disarming. Dom is a good looking guy, aesthetically speaking.

 

“Thanks, Steve.”

 

And then he's gone, jogging out the door, and Steve stares after him until he disappears.

 

Robin clears her throat. “So, you've definitely got a type.”

 

Steve nearly drops the keys, fumbles, and swings wide eyes around on her. “What?”

 

“Tall, blonde, killer smiles,” Robin shrugs, shutting off the freezer bin now that it's empty. “You have a type.”

 

Steve sputters.  “I don't-- I'm _not_ \--”

 

“Hey,” she says, and tries to soften her tone-- at least a little. “It's _cool_ , remember?”

 

Steve's gaze strays to his work shoes. His ears are still red.

 

Robin feels kinda bad for him. She knows what it's like realizing maybe you're not who you're _supposed_ to be. That maybe you don't always like who you're _supposed_ to like.

 

Steve clears his throat.

 

“How did you, um… how did you know?” he asks, and his voice is rough.

 

“That you have the hots for our dubiously attractive manager?” Robin asks, leaning forward on her elbows, voice dry but not cutting. “Or that I was a carpet muncher?”

 

Steve chokes on a laugh. “Oh, my God--”

 

Grinning, Robin wiggles her eyebrows. “Like that one?”

 

“That's _awful_.”

 

“Uh huh,” she says.  “But you're laughing, aren't you?”

 

“I'm sorry,” he says, trying to muffle a half hysteric sound with his fist, eyes bright with mirth. “But-- both, I guess.”

 

“Tracy in fourth grade,” Robin says, drumming her fingers against the counter, the only sign she'll ever give that will tell anyone she's _nervous_.  “We had a sleepover. I realized I wanted to marry her. Told my mom. Never had another sleepover with her, again.”

 

Steve winces-- for _her_ , she realizes-- and shuffles closer.

 

“I'm sorry,” he says.

 

“It is what it is,” Robin shrugs, then narrows her eyes on him. “As for you? Your moon eyes are cute-- but they're not subtle.”

 

Steve drags his hands over his face. When he finally looks at her again, he looks _tired_.

 

She doesn't think she's been allowed to see this part of him, yet.

 

“That obvious?”

 

“Only to someone who knows what it looks like.”

 

Steve nods.  “I'm not… I mean, I still like _girls_.”

 

“But you like boys, too.” Robin nods.

 

Steve cringes a little.

 

She gets that, too. Sometimes it's hard to admit it. Even to yourself.

 

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess-- that.” Steve says.  “Just… it's kinda _new_.”

 

“You're young,” Robin says, like he isn't older than her by, like, sixth months.  “You'll figure it out.”

 

“Thanks,” he says.  “Wanna finish closing up?”

 

“Definitely.”

 

***

 

The parking lot is pretty much empty by the time they head out. Steve walks Robin to her car, like he always does, her arm linked with his.

 

She doesn't really _mind_ it, anymore. It's kind of cute, him insisting she get to her car safely _first_. Even though she doesn't imagine anything could go that badly around here. It's sweet.

 

Especially considering Steve doesn't have any ulterior motives.

 

When they get to her VW, though, Steve stops and squints at a car a few places down. His lips purse, head cocking over, something like “isn't that--?” whispered under his breath.

 

Then, he blinks and twists to look at her, smile tight. She sees right through it, but she isn't sure she should _ask_.

 

“I left my keys in the shop,” he says.

 

“Oh,” she blinks. “You want me to come with--?”

 

“Nah, no, it's late.” Steve shakes his head. “You should, uh… you should get home.”

 

“Okay,” she says, drawing out the word a little.  “I'll see you tomorrow?”

 

“Of course,” Steve beams.  “Who else would I bitch to about the little kids making a mess of the tables?”

 

“Right,” she says. “Good night, Steve.”

 

“Night,” he says, watching her unlock her car and climb into the driver's seat. “And Robin?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Thank you,” Steve says. “For-- you know.”

 

Robin smiles, feels it curve, genuine and easy, over her lips.  “Anytime, Steve.”

 

And then she's shutting the door, starting her ignition, pulling into reverse. She watches Steve watch her.  Feels oddly safer for it.

 

Thinks maybe-- _just maybe_ \-- small towns aren't so bad, after all.

 

Not with people like Steve Harrington around, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Dominic is played by Ryan Kwanten in my mind.


End file.
